I grew up in Glasgow’s shipyards, where steel clashed like thunder and汽笛 echoed through cold mornings. My father was a riveter; my mother, a quiet force holding faith, kept us fed with dignity. No hospital visits, no luxuries—just grit, fists, and the court. I learned early: life isn’t fair, but discipline is. Football wasn’t escape—it was survival. Every foul call was a battle cry. This is how I became who I am: not born great, but forged in the smoke.